


Yohoho and an elephant gun

by fictionisthebetterreality



Category: Black Lagoon, Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: A lot of guns, Assassin!Christa, Assassin!Levi, Black Lagoon!AU, Computer Nerd!Connie, Cop!Mike, Drinking, Gay, Getting chased by cops, Gunman!Sasha, Gunman!Ymir, Guns, Hacking, Hange/Petra because they are too cute, Illegal activity, Krista spelled Christa, Lesbians, Pirates, Probably a lot of that too, Sailing the high seas, Violence, Ymir is a gun wielding maniac, but not really a main thing, but still crushes on Christa, cop!erwin, dirty cops, i will fight you on this, more the pirates stuff, so much gay, the gay comes later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-02
Updated: 2016-04-02
Packaged: 2018-05-30 20:29:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6439213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionisthebetterreality/pseuds/fictionisthebetterreality
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Black Lagoon!AU in which Jean is the leader of a bunch of guns for hire that transport certain goods for certain people and its all less than legal. Featuring Ymir, Sasha and Connie, as well as a bunch of other guys from Attack on Titan, Jean gets a job that may be the riskiest thing they've done. It will involve getting chased across the sea in a race against time where the stakes are getting blown out of the water and permanently ending their career, all for a few documents the CIA and FBI are desperate to get their hands on...<br/>With a side of pairings because these nerds can't keep away from each other and I have to indulge my cravings somehow</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yohoho and an elephant gun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean gets an unexpected phone call, Ymir causes trouble, and Sasha gets a gun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was so tired when I finally finished this and just want to get it up so I didn't reread it at all, so I'm sorry if there are any spelling/grammar mistakes! I'll check it over later... probably.

“It’s too damn hot!”

Ymir’s complaint came from across the room, where she was sitting sprawled on the torn up couch, feet on the coffee table and eyes screwed shut in apparent anguish.

Jean huffed in agreement, head tipped back as he watched their pathetic excuse for a fan slowly rotate, squeaking on every half turn. It was quiet for once, with both Sasha and Connie out, and Ymir too hot and tired to do much more than mutter under her breath.  Even outside was devoid of the usual noises that came with living in the crime capital of the world.

If you could think of something illegal, you could bet that it was in Roanapur.  People here lived by a different set of rules. Murder was an everyday occurrence, drugs were bought on every corner, there were at least three big Mafia gangs all living under the same patch of sky.

Jean was used to it, by now. In fact, the silence outside was making his skin itch, unease prickling his skin at the lack of gunshots and raucous laughter and screams that accompanied his life.

Ymir groaned again, a long drawn out thing that made Jean roll his eyes and stand up, grimacing at the way his shirt clung to his skin with sweat.

“If you’re that miserable, why don’t you go and run some jobs for me? There’s a couple things need picking up, and Hanji’s been making a racket about coming to see her latest stock.”

Ymir opened her eyes and looked at him with horror.

“Dude, nothing will make me go back out there. I nearly died coming here, it’s like 60 degrees or something.”

Jean opened the mini fridge that stood in the corner and threw her a beer, humming thoughtfully.

“Forty, actually. So nothing I can do will get you to leave?”

Ymir caught the beer one handed, and eyed him suspiciously. “Nothing, I’m serious here.”

Jean turned so she wouldn’t see the smile threatening and pretended to be looking in great detail at the contents of their fridge.

“Okay, okay, I just thought you would’ve been going to the Flag by now, that’s all.”

He could practically hear the gears grinded in Ymir’s head as she tried to sense where the conversation was headed.

“And I would be going to the Flag because….”

Shutting the door nonchalantly, he shrugged and straightened, walking over and collapsing next to her, expression firmly blank.

“Oh, I just heard that Christa’s back in town, and that she’s renting a room over the bar, that’s all. But if you’re not going, then it’s not a problem.”

Ymir gaped at him and Jean smirked.

“Christa – is back? At the Yellow Flag? Wait – renting?”

“That’s what I heard” Jean replied, kicking his feet up onto the table, as Ymir removed hers, sitting upright.

Wide eyed, she spluttered for a minute, before standing and, not bothering to walk around, hopped onto the coffee table and off the other side, grabbing her holster and swinging it on as she went.

“The list is in the car” Jean called after her, and chuckled as a tanned hand shot back in and plucked the keys of the hook by the door before it closed.

He wasn’t entirely sure of the situation between Ymir and the blonde freelance assassin-for-hire, but he had seen Ymir’s crushes before, and had seen enough drunken making out on Christa’s part to know at least part of it was mutual.

Sighing, he tried for a minute to get comfortable, thinking a nap would be good now the office was empty, but soon enough the quiet became too quiet, and he stood with an annoyed cluck of his tongue, grabbing the keys to the office and coping Ymir’s steps and he headed for the door, pausing to lock it before descending the stairs and coming out into the street.

Ymir had been right, you could die out here, Jean thought as the heat blasted down on him. The minute he stepped outside he regretted it, but knew that there was no chance of him relaxing inside, and instead headed right, up towards where he knew Hanji’s shop was.

Hanji was a strange one, to say the least. She ran a shop that was designed to look like a patisserie, with faded pictures of pies and pastries in the window, and co-owned with a small ginger named Petra. Jean had never seen anyone buy any of the food, but then again, he had never gone there with that purpose in mind. Through the back, a door that looked like a stack of shelves opened up and connected the ‘official’ side of business with the not-so-legal side.

For the right price, you could buy almost any type of gun, from old style revolvers, to sub-machine guns, to grenade launchers. If you wanted something a bit more unusual or customized, you had to put an order in, and it cost more, but Hanji was a solid enough source that nearly everyone Jean knew used her as their main source of artillery.

Panting slightly, Jean reached the street that was at the top of the steep bank his office was on, and continued on towards the shop. At first glance, it looked like no one was about, but soon enough life appeared. A group of old men with prison tattoos sat in the shade of an awning, chugging back beer and arguing good naturedly. A couple of kids ran out from an alley, screaming with laughter and making Jean jealous of their apparent immunity to the death rays from above. A woman passed him, arguing passionately on the phone in something Spanish-sounding. No one could say Roanapur wasn’t culturally diverse, Jean thought, thinking about all the different ethnicities that lived in the town.

Spotting Hanji’s shop, the name unreadable due to a combination of fading and suspicious stains, he sped up, the thought of working air conditioning enough to make him cut across the street and into the sun for a full five seconds, imagining the skin on his arms already crisping.

Opening the door, a cheerful jangle rang out from the makeshift bell – a combination of bullets and piano wire – and he nearly groaned as the cool air washed over him.

“Oh! Jean!” a cheerful voice rang out from behind the counter, and Jean looked over to see Petra sitting on a stool, blowing bubbles of gum and tapping out something on her phone.

“Hey” he greeted, and slowly walked over. Maybe if he moved slowly enough, by the time he had to leave the sun would have set and he could brave the outside again. Whatever it took to stay inside the place with air conditioning.

Petra grinned, and Jean couldn’t help but smile back. Petra seemed to always be glad to see him, no matter the time or day. He didn’t know if it was something she did to everyone, probably yes, but he still appreciated it.

“Here to see Hanji? She’s been on the phone to everyone, trying to get them to come see the new stuff that’s come in.” Petra spoke with an eye roll, but her tone was fond enough to make it clear she was used to the other’s antics by now. Jean grinned, somewhat sheepishly for having been dragged into said antics, as Petra flipped the counter divide and yelled his appearance through to Hanji.

There was a clatter and a curse, and then the wild brunette appeared, a streak of what looked like gun oil on her cheek and a manic grin that stretched over her face when she spotted him.

“Jean!” she boomed, before grabbing him into a bone crushing hug. Hanji’s hugs were rare – who’s weren’t, in a city like this – but when they did come out, you could forget about breathing for a while.

“Hi, Hanji” he wheezed, finally being released. Already talking a mile a minute, she led him to the back room, pulling open the hidden door through some hidden manoeuvre and ushering him in.

Whenever Jean got taken into the back room of Hanji’s shop, he always got reminded of why she was the top arms seller on this side of the city. She had _everything._ The room was bigger than the outside suggested, because the front of the shop only took up a tiny amount of the building, leaving as much as possible for the displays. Hanji stocked her ‘examples’ here, where you could look them over and then place your order. You could meet the shipment yourself when it arrived, but Jean had never felt the need – if Hanji said it was going to be there, then it was there.

The usual assortment were there – hand guns, machine guns, shotguns, sniper rifles, assault rifles, grenade launchers, you name it. But Hanji walked past all of them, over to some ordinary looking crates over by the wall. As she stopped and opened it, ignoring Jean’s declarations that he was only looking, Jean found himself leaning forward in anticipation despite himself.

Then the lid hit the wall, and the goods were on display. He blinked, and looked at Hanji, who was nearly vibrating with anticipation.

“Hanji,” he said flatly, “The hell am I going to do with an Elephant Gun?”

 

* * *

 

 

“Bye Jean!”

“See ya, Petra” Jean walked past the small woman and exited the shop, exhausted from trying to explain to Hanji why exactly he didn’t want the giant gun that she was sure would come in useful on ‘one of your adventures’. Arguing with Hanji was a tricky thing, because she could go from playful teasing to death threats in two seconds flat if you implied the wrong thing. He’d seen the look she gave when someone insulted her business, and was in no hurry to be on the other end of it anytime soon.

He was so distracted thinking about the gun and Hanji’s wild tales of adventure she imagined him in –a stark contrast to what was in reality a lot of deliveries, pick up’s and transporting of less than legal equipment- that the searing heat didn’t enter his mind until he was three steps into it. Sweat immediately started gathering and sticking his shirt to his back, and he made a hasty retreat into the closest patch of shade.

Before he could decide whether or not to join Ymir at the Yellow Flag, having to endure the pathetic puppy eyes she made every time Christa wasn’t looking, or go down to the dock and see how the repairs to his boat were going, his phone rang, a shrill trilling that made him jump in the silence of the afternoon.

Digging it out of his pocket, he squinted at the screen, but the glare of the sun made it impossible to read, even in the shade. Assuming it would either be the mechanic finishing with the boat, or Sasha and Connie begging for a ride, he swiped at the screen until the ringing stopped.

Lifting it to his ear, he grunted a hello, already feeling depressed at the thought of either walking down to the docks – a good half an hour on foot - or having to listen to Sasha’s whining for ten minutes.

There was silence for a minute, and just as he was about to say it again, he got a reply.

“Jean” the voice said, and surprise flashed through him. What the hell was the leader of the Triad doing ringing him?

“Mikasa,” he said slowly, thinking of everything he’d done in the past ten days that would warrant a phone call. So far he had nothing. Sure Ymir had been in a small spat the other day, but no one had been killed, and it hadn’t even involved any Triad members. Maybe Connie had hacked someone’s computer again. God, he was going to kill him if he had, he _told_ him after the last time-

“No one is in your office, so I assume you’re all out.”

She rang his office? Maybe he wasn’t going to have to talk his way out of someone else’s trouble after all.

“Yeah,” he said, mind racing as he tried to figure out what the hell was going on. “I was just at Hanji’s, and Ymir’s at the Flag. Don’t know where Connie and Sasha are though.”

Maybe she needed one of them for translation? He’d lent Connie to her the other month –with Sasha as backup - when some Japanese members had visited.

“I actually just needed to speak to you. Can you be here in an hour? It can’t be discussed over the phone.”

Shit. If he was being summoned to Triad HQ for something that was important enough to warrant worry over the security of a phone call, it must be big. But he hadn’t been grabbed off the street or shot at, he’d been rang, so hopefully his team wasn’t dead just yet. Mikasa’s office was up in the part of the city dominated by tower blocks, not as big as skyscrapers but the biggest thing they had around here. You had to be damn rich and damn powerful to live there, because prices were sky high and crime was more common than even Jean’s district, what with all the businesses. Although, Jean mused, somehow it was hard to imagine anyone taking pot shots at anyone affiliated with the Triad.

“Uh, yeah, sure.” Although it had been framed as a question, Jean knew he had no choice. Mikasa never threatened, she was too polite for that. She’d just kill you if you said no. Or torture and dismember you. He didn’t know, and didn’t want to.

“Good. See you then.”

 The line ended with a click, and he lowered the phone. Frowning, he realised he’d have to go to the Flag to pick up the car, and Ymir. No way in hell was he going alone. It might sound cowardly to an outsider, but in this world you either brought back up or died. There’s no such thing as trust among criminals. Ymir and Mikasa didn’t get along, but if he told Ymir to behave, she would. Hopefully. It would help if he wasn’t dragging her away from her ongoing crush on Christa, but it couldn’t be helped.

Sighing, he set off, only to be interrupted by another shrill trill from his pocket. Not stopping, he answered and held it up to his ear, only to be greeted by the sounds of shouting and things smashing.

“The hell? Hannes, that you?” He could only think of one place making that amount of sound in the middle of the afternoon, and that was the Yellow Flag, a bar that often had your average cut throat thief sharing a room with the highest ranking members of the Mafia.

There was nothing but the continuing sounds of yelling – mixed in was a voice that Jean was desperately and hopelessly hoping wasn’t Ymirs – for a minute, until Hannes came on the phone.

“—ing shit, Jean you there?”

He nodded instinctively, wincing at the stressed tone in the man’s voice. Knowing his luck, Ymir had already broken something important, and he would have to foot the bill to get it replaced.

“Yeah man, what the hell’s going on? That sounds busy, even for you.”

“Don’t you fucking know it, you gotta come down now, that crazy bitch started a fight with – YOU BREAK IT YOU PAY FOR IT ASSHOLE, PUT IT DOWN – with goddamn Levi of all people, and now she’s got – YMIR FOR THE LOVE OF – look just get yourself here, now, before I blow a hole in everyone involved.”

There was a click and the line went dead, Hannes having clearly slammed the phone down. Stomach sinking, Jean broke into a jog, already preparing himself for the shit storm he was about to walk in on.

 

* * *

 

 

The place was trashed, and Hannes was furious, but nothing was irreparably damaged, and Jean knew that Hannes would forget all about it the next time he brought in a special delivery.

He gathered what had happened from Hannes, who was red in the face after shouting so much. Ymir had been with Christa – of course – and Levi had apparently said some insulting remark in response to one of Ymir’s tales, as he was known to do, calling her a liar. Ymir, always looking for an argument and unable to take a blow to her pride, had insulted him right back, conveniently forgetting the taboo on anything to do with Levi’s height. Chaos had ensued, shots were fired, Christa had joined Ymir, all of this spreading to the others who had either egged the trio on or started fights of their own, leading to over turned tables, more than a handful of smashed bottles, and several new bullet holes in the walls and ceiling.

Jean glared at Ymir, who was in heaven, having a scratch on her face gently dabbed by the 5 foot nothing blonde, sporting a pair of crossed gleaming short swords on her back. She spotted him and stuck her tongue out, not sorry in the slightest.

Sighing, he walked over, waving off Hannes with a promise of top shelf whisky the next time he was doing a delivery.

“There, all done!” Christa’s chirpy voice reminded him of Petra, but that was where the similarities stopped.

Petra could handle herself in a fight, Jean had seen it for himself, but you’d never guess it from her appearance. She was smaller than average, not as small as Christa, and combined with her smile and bubbly personality, most people underestimated her as the ditzy blonde.

Christa was all coiled tension. She smiled, but it barely reached her eyes. She kept her back to the wall, her eyes were constantly scanning the room. She barely glanced at Jean when he approached, but he still felt a ripple of unease at being so close to her. She screamed lethal. A perfect match for Ymir really, who was chaos embodied.

“Hey boss,” she greeted casually, her eyes sparkling and a smirk standing firm as a result of her fight. Ymir loved fighting. Jean had heard people compare her to a feral dog when she got in the zone, and he couldn’t really disagree. There was something that happened, something that made her switch off anything that could serve as a distraction. It was useful, most of the time. Other times though, well. Jean had had to man handle her a few times to get her to come back down to earth. The last time had been when Sasha joined them, and Jean had lived through a moment where he truly didn’t know if Ymir was going to shoot him or not. They had pulled through of course, as they always did, but now he was a lot more cautious to assess her state of mind before barging in.

“Idiot” he said, smacking the back of her head, making her scowl.

“When stuff gets broken, it’s me that pays for it. Next time you want to show off, pick a place the owner doesn’t know us.”

He said it with an eye roll, and Ymir merely stuck her tongue out again, before hopping off the table she’d sat on for Christa to look at her face.

“Don’t go anywhere, we’ve got a job.” Ymir’s face fell.

“And don’t look at me like that either. It’ll be an hour, tops.” He hoped. He still had no idea what Mikasa wanted, and he only had half an hour now that he’d sorted out Ymir’s mess.

Walking towards the door, he stood just inside and waited for her to sulk over, holding out his hand for the keys. Once they were on the road, all the windows down to combat the stifling heat that had built up in the car - because of course Ymir hadn’t parked in the shade – she turned from where she had her feet on the dashboard and asked where they were going.

When he told her, she stiffened, and frowned.

“The hell does that bitch want with you?” her tone was bitter and he frowned.

“I don’t have a clue, but don’t cause any trouble. I’d rather stay off the Triad’s shit list for now.” Hearing her mutter under her breath, he pressed on the accelerator and weaved around the traffic that was waiting ahead at a stop light, going up onto the dirt that served as a divide to the two parts of the motorway and blasting past the cars crossing in front, earning several blared horns and a lot of squealing tires, nearly getting clipped by a truck that was slow to brake.

The faster they got there, the faster they could leave, and the less the chance of anything going wrong while they were there.

 

* * *

 

 

The Triad’s main office was something out of a hotel. Marble floors led to a large desk behind which sat a pretty receptionist, typing away at a computer. She looked up and motioned for them to use the lift, telling them they were expected on the 7th floor.

Jean felt incredibly out of place, and could tell Ymir did as well, fiddling with her guns and eventually stuffing her hands in the back pockets of her denim shorts when he gave her a look. The last thing they needed were trigger happy bodyguards thinking they were planning on shooting their leader.

When the lift opened, it revealed another reception, this time with added security. There were six people stationed around the room, each carrying a weapon that wasn’t necessarily concealed. The receptionist this time was a guy, and he gave them the same polite smile as he lifted the phone on his desk. Murmuring into it for a minute, he placed it back down and stood, leading them over to the door. He knocked once, then opened it, walking ahead and to the side as Jean and Ymir filed in.

The room was decked in finery. A plush carpet was underfoot, and Jean felt ridiculously like he should take his shoes off, old habits coming to the surface. The walls had tapestries hanging on them and two floor length windows stood either side of a huge wooden desk, behind which sat Mikasa.

She didn’t rise to greet them, not that Jean expected her to. There were two chairs seated across from her, and Jean paused before sitting in one, shifting uncomfortably. Ymir ignored them and stood, remaining in place behind Jeans shoulder. She gave off a distinct vibe of bodyguard, and Jean felt ridiculous for letting it make him feel better. Her head was in the game, and he knew he could count on her. Straightening his back, he looked levelly at Mikasa, who nodded, apparently satisfied, and waved the receptionist out.

Ymir shifted slightly to the side, and in the reflection of the windows Jean saw that two muscled men had taken places either side of the door. He didn’t let it affect him. Whatever Mikasa wanted, it wasn’t anything against him, or she wouldn’t have called him here.

“Jean” she spoke softly, with a face that betrayed no emotion. He nodded back at her.

Bringing her arms up, she rested her elbows on the table and threaded her hands together. “I asked you here today because I have need of your services.”

Jean had guessed as much, and he told her so. With no other motive, she must need someone to deliver something, which is what his company was best at. That, and retrieving things.

She nodded again, and explained.

“I have in my possession some documents that are in need of transport. I would use my normal couriers, but due to some… unfortunate mistakes made by some of my people, I can no longer use them.”

Jean wasn’t sure the last time he’d heard someone speak so properly before. Long before he joined this life, that was for sure. It was already having an effect, making him sit straighter, pay attention more. Frowning at himself, he slouched back down again, and got comfortable in the rigid chair. Apparently he wasn’t the only one put off by the speech, as Ymir spoke up.

“So basically,” she drawled, putting on an air of casualness that was betrayed by her tense stance and flickering eyes, “some of your guys fucked up, and now you’ve got the cops on your ass. We don’t work for you, so they won’t be watching us.” Jean let it slide, because if he was telling the truth he’d rather have it in plain terms just as much as Ymir.

Mikasa seemed to smile, a twitch of her lips that was gone so fast Jean thought he must have imagined it, and nodded.

“Yes, that’s it. The plan is simple, yet should be effective. You, along with four other delivery specialists, will all leave at the same time. However, only one will have the true documents, and the others will be fake. It would be naïve to assume that they are not watching everything we do, so they will work out the fact that four are diversions. The part they don’t know, and will waste time trying to figure out, is which is the real one. We don’t think they have the resources to chase down all five, so only one will be labelled as the threat.”

It was silent for a minute as Jean turned it around in his head. Mikasa had laid it out in front of him, almost simply so, but he could think of a thing or two she seemed eager to skim over.

“I’m assuming we don’t get to know ourselves who has the real documents?”

She shook her head, and opened her mouth, but Jean steamrolled on, not wanting to get side tracked with Mikasa’s words. She was a skilled negotiator, and he wanted to make sure he knew every aspect of the plan before accepting.

“And even if they do spend time choosing, when they do choose one, if it’s who I think it is, there’s no way  they won’t be able to make up that time with their resources. They might not have a lot, but what they do have is pretty fucking powerful.”

Because this was the Triad they were talking about, and the Triad didn’t get your regular bog standard cops. No, they got their own special division of the CIA and FBI, a joint taskforce that was determined to bring down Mikasa and every Triad leader like her.

There was a pause, and Jean stared her down. He may not be a big player like her, but all you needed was a patch into the police network (courtesy of Connie, in his case, their resident computer hacker), and an understanding of police code (he got the credit on that) and you could figure out a lot about what was going on with the higher players of the criminal world.

It had been roughly two weeks ago when news had come in about the new task force comprised of the CIA and FBI solely for the destruction of the Triad in Roanapur. It was small, and didn’t have a lot of resources, being so out of the way, but they’d already caught several people affiliated with other gangs, and news was that they were getting hot on the Triads trail.

Mikasa had obviously brought Jean in assuming he didn’t know about any of this, and was probably setting him up, giving his team the fake, giving one of the other four the real, the other four that would be people associated with her, making it glaringly apparent that Jean must have the real, sending them chasing after him and giving his team an almost impossible task of losing them, delivering the ‘documents’ and getting back all in one piece.

The room’s tension rocketed up a few notches. Jean was barely breathing, shifting slightly and feeling the comforting weight of the handgun tucked in the back of his pants. Mikasa narrowed her eyes, and Jean saw one of the body guards move. It seemed like there was about to be a full gun drawn stale mate, but then Mikasa leaned back, and it was like the tension dissolved. The bodyguard stepped back, and Jean started breathing again.

Mikasa looked at him blankly, and Jean got a feeling of déjà vu. After a minute, he realised she reminded him of Levi, the cold faced assassin that Ymir had fought. The lack of expression was eerily similar, along with the same black hair and facial structure.

Mikasa sighed, a small motion, and tilted her head. “Yes, you’re right. It seems I underestimated you, Jean. I’ll no longer need your services.”

Jean raised his eyebrows and grinned. “Who said I wasn’t gonna accept?” When she responded with nothing more than a blink, he elaborated.

“You’re thinking no bastard in his right mind would accept those terms, right? Too much of a challenge, too much danger, too much risk. But you forgot, Black Lagoon was created to do the jobs no one else will do. Risk and challenge are what we do for a living, Mikasa.” He finished with a wolfish grin, and saw Ymir smirking in the reflection behind him.

“But,” he spoke now with a more serious face. “It’ll cost you.”

When Mikasa nodded, he continued.

“I want double what you’re paying the others. And I want it each, not overall. Double for every person. Guns, as well. The serious stuff.”  Mikasa watched him, and he got the strange thought that this must be what birds of prey look like, assessing their prey, deciding if they look good enough to eat.

But then the moment passed, and she nodded. “Reasonable, for the risk involved. I accept. However, I will add my own condition; one of my men must accompany you, this is non-negotiable.”

Jean paused. He couldn’t think of a bad reason she’d ask for that, other than to keep an eye on them. The use of heavy artillery probably made them all a bit nervous, Jean couldn’t blame them; they’d barely worked together before, no trust had been established.

He agreed, and Mikasa bent to open a drawer in her desk, removing a brown A4 envelope. Sliding it across, she met his eye as he stood and picked it up. “My man will meet you at the dock and explain where you are going.”

Jean nodded, and turned. The two men by the door made it look imposing, but Ymir marched up with confidence, opening it with hardly a backwards glance, already halfway to the lift before Jean had reached the doorway.

“And Jean,” Mikasa called, causing him to turn.

“Good luck.”

 

* * *

 

 

Once outside and in the car, Ymir’s muttering started up again.

“Can’t believe she was gonna put us up like that, what a cold bitch.” He shrugged and pulled away, ignoring the horn blaring from where a grey sedan had been about to pass.

“Can’t blame her, it made sense. Make it look like one team must have the real one, send them chasing after it, only to turn up nothing. I wonder where we have to deliver it.”

Ymir cackled, and Jean looked at her curiously.

“Ah man, I just remembered, back there, your whole ‘The black lagoon was made for challenges’ speech”, she shrieked, and he scowled, feeling a blush work its way up his neck.

“You should have just said ‘The Black Lagoon LAUGHS in the face of danger!’” finishing off with a particularly cheesy laugh, she ended her imitation of the Lion King with a last cackle.

“Shut up, it worked didn’t it?” he grumbled, before smiling. It had been cheesy. But it had worked. They had the job, and a nice wad of cash at the end of it. Of course, now she’d probably dock the pay of the other four teams to make the double of it cheaper, but she couldn’t do it that much unless she wanted no teams at all.

Grinning, he pressed on the accelerator and told Ymir to call Connie and Sasha.

“Have them meet us at the dock,” he said. “I have a feeling we’ll be leaving straight away.”

 

* * *

 

 

By the time they got there, it was late afternoon, and the heat of the day had slowly started to abide. Combined with the wind from the sea, it was bearable. As soon as the car rolled to a stop, Sasha and Connie ran up, talking over each other.

Connie and Sasha were the comedy duo of their little group, and had become fast friends when Sasha joined a few years ago. Connie was a computer hacker, hair shaved close to his head and prone to long debates about computer science with anyone who would listen. Sasha was a food fanatic, and spent most of her earnings on it. She was good with a gun, but her real skill came with breaking and entering. Unlike Connie, she was a dab hand at it in the real world, and had a personal best at unlocking a standard lock of 5.7 seconds.

“Jean, what’s going on are we leaving-“

“Are we taking the boat should I bring my fishing-“

“- I brought my laptop as well just in case but what does Mikasa want-“

“- if we do get chased can we stop off at that town in the cove cause I heard they have new shrimp dishes-“

“- the CIA involved because I just did a new hacking technique and I need to test it-“

“Guys!” Jean had to shout to get them to shut up, which they did. Ymir went off to see if the boat was finished – if it wasn’t Jean assumed Mikasa would have an available boat – and he explained the situation to them.

They turned and looked at each other with wide eyes. “Dude, did you hear? We’re getting chased by the CIA!”

“And might have to have a full blown gun fight!”

“I can finally get into their records!”

“I can finally test that new gun Hanji gave me!”

The duo high fived and sped off, to do what Jean didn’t know. They were a pair alright, but they worked well together, and Jean couldn’t blame them for getting excited. Hell, he was excited. This might be their biggest job yet. It would be extremely dangerous and ridiculously risky, but it would be a break from the monotony of every day life in Roanapur, and that was all they needed.

He started after them, seeing his boat bobbing gently on the waves, a relatively small torpedo boat, redesigned to have more storage space and a more durable cabin. The hull was veritably impenetrable, designed to withstand underwater projectiles, and the railing around the deck had been replaced with a bullet proof wall at waist height, which had proved a necessity during the occasional firefights that broke out over stealing stock. Being a pirate meant not everyone was happy to simply hand their goods over, after all.

Walking up to the boat, he saw the distinct figures of his three employees, and looking at Sasha, remembered what she had just said. Eyes narrowing, he shouted up at her.

“What new gun from Hanji?!”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for checking this out!!  
> Tell me what you think, kudos/comment away!  
> Constructive criticism is always welcome!


End file.
